We have a choice when it comes to our own grief. We can deny it, stifle the tears, stuff it down, cover it over, and try to bury it. Or we can cry a river, sob, wail, pound our pillow and let it rise up and out however it wants.
Sometimes I try to choke back the sobs even when I’m alone; afraid I won’t be able stop the flood if I let the first teardrop fall. At times I feel the need to talk things out, but I don’t want to burden others with my sorrow. They have problems of their own and they wouldn’t understand anyway. Besides, some have said that after a year I should be over the worst by now and I should start planning my future. So I pretend that I’m okay in order not to look weak or needy. Besides, if I don’t think about it maybe the pain will dissipate into nothingness.
Isolating myself with my grief and pretending I’ve made it through the worst, isn’t real though. I think shoving it down could actually cause the grief to dig deeper and grow roots. It could spread like a cancer into dangerous levels of anxiety, depression, anger, and guilt. Unresolved grief squelches hope and murders the very spirit of life. And I don’t want to go there.
I can express my grief openly—raw and uninhibited. Sometimes I sob in the shower heaving
tears mixed with water pouring from the faucet. At times I’ve even cried in a crowded grocery store when a background song triggered a memory. I didn’t care what others thought or whispered to one another as they watched my breakdown moment. This is my pain and my sorrow and I’m not letting anyone make me feel weird because of it. I found that most people are really kind and offer a hug or listen to my story.
Sometimes I’ve called a friend late at night when the anxiety clenching my chest made it hard to breathe, or when I felt myself entering the danger zone unable to go on another minute. There have been several times that I’ve gushed out the story of how my husband died to a complete stranger. I think that if I talk about it, write about it and allow myself to feel it then maybe the grief will bleed itself out in time and heal.
Letting the tears flow, feeling the pain, being open to it, exposing the unbearable darkness of grief is hard, but afterwards I feel somehow cleansed. It lets others know, “I’m not over it. I’m in the worst pain I’ve ever felt, and I need help.” I’ve found, rather than being a sign of weakness, it takes courage to reach out for someone to lean on as I try to hobble through my days; someone to provide a safety net while I stand on the raw edge of this pain; to ask someone to wade beside me in my sea of tears; someone to pray with me and for me.
I cherish those who sit in silence with me or hug me so tight I can feel the warmth of love wrapping around me. I’ve also learned it’s okay to stand back from those who don’t understand because they’re not on this journey; they haven’t had their heart and soul loved one die.
Grief is messy. There’s no right way or wrong way to do it. Whether it be sobbing into my pillow, crying in a store, talking about my husband to keep his memory alive, or pouring out my emotions onto journal pages, or laughing with a friend as we share funny memories. I unapologetically allow myself the right to express my grief in whatever way it presents itself. In doing so, I hope to heal and grow stronger over time.
Photo credits from Pixabay; rojnlove, BuonoDelTesoro, congerdesign
About Carmen Myrtis-Garcia
Carmen Myrtis-Garcia has faced her fears head-on while snorkeling the Great Blue Hole of Belize despite her phobia of the ocean, ziplining above a jungle canopy even though she is afraid of heights, walking barefoot across red-hot coals at a firewalking event, or moving alone to a foreign country. She does not consider herself brave, just curious.
The hardest challenge she faced was the suffering and death of her husband, Michael, to pancreatic cancer. Faith, prayer, and community got them through three stays in the hospital in a Third World country 3000 miles from family. Michael died in 2015 following an emergency trip back to Colorado just 3 years after they began living their long-planned for Dream on a little Caribbean Island.
Carmen is a published fiction and non-fiction writer. She is a contributor to Chicken Soup for the Soul and author of Land of Grief; Hope for the Widow’s Journey (devotional; release spring 2025). She is founder of Hope for the Widow’s Journey (private FB group) and Faith-Filled Widows (public FB), and her blog Thoughts-in-Grief. Her mission is to assist over one million widows to live life forward with hope, faith, and healing through her writings, podcasts, workshops, and grief mentoring.
She is the proud mother of two sons and a daughter-in-law and “neena” to two adorable grandchildren. She resides in Colorado and Belize and wanders at times when her gypsy spirit tugs at her.